A Straight Look
by OxEyed
Summary: Nothing perfect lasts, but when it comes to Serenity, Duke doesn't plan on playing by the rules. He'll do whatever he can to preserve what he has with her, and not even Tristan's intervention will change that. Five years post-canon, established cheershipping with a healthy dose of chase/crush/ardentshipping on the side.


_A/N: Ha, yes, I actually finished something. Ironically enough, this story wasn't ever supposed to be written at all; I have a nice neat list of WIPs and this is nowhere on it. Turns out I only want to write when I'm procrastinating something harder (like editing). However, these characters can always use more attention so I have (almost) no regrets._

_Oh, and setting is America, five-ish years post-canon. That puts Serenity in college and Tristan and Duke in their early twenties. Enjoy! Or don't, I'm not your boss._

* * *

**A Straight Look**_  
_

_He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time,  
__And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said.  
__Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said.  
__Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look._

_-_T.S. Eliot_, The Wasteland, _Part II: A Game of Chess

Serenity's body was an endless source of fascination for Duke. He was awed by the rise and fall of her breasts, the spread of her hair glowing red against the pillow, the way she smelled in some places like sugar and others like uncooked rice, her limbs that fell apart for him like the velvet pages of a book, and even after months of constant kissing and pinching and caressing, he couldn't stop touching her.

She was accommodating. Generosity was in her nature, generosity and a placid calm that faced every eventuality, and she absorbed his curious fingers with the same gentle humor that absorbed his advances: flattery both senseless and sincere, the teasing giving way to wholehearted trust as they shared secrets they hadn't known they could vocalize up till now, stories they thought they'd forgotten and skeletons they'd never buried.

It wasn't perfect: nothing was, but it was closer than Duke ever expected to get, and by now he had learned when to cut his losses. No winning streak lasted forever.

So he was careful. He made himself trust her, counted the secrets she told him and gave her his in equal measure, warned her about his penchant for self-sabotage, rationalized that even his level of dysfunction had to have a limit. He didn't brag about her, didn't tell anyone about their relationship, and he made sure she did the same. Not even Joey could know, not until Duke was certain that she would take his side and not her brother's, if it came to that. Careful.

The one person that did know was Serenity's roommate. It was unavoidable, considering how many nights Serenity hadn't come home, but it was an acceptable loss; she was from another state and didn't know any of Serenity's friends from Domino. Even so, Duke didn't exchange information with her beyond casual pleasantries. He wasn't exactly a household name, but there could still be media attention if the story got to the right ears.

Serenity's choice of college made his job easier. It was a good forty-five-minute drive from Joey's place and an even better two hours from her mother's. And even when he was there, they rarely went out into public. Careful.

So when they were laying in his bed early Sunday morning and Serenity's phone buzzed on the nightstand, he was only being careful when he watched for her reaction. They were both still half-asleep, and it took her a few moments to muster the necessary energy it took to reach for the phone. Whatever the message was, she didn't care much for it; after reading, she fell back onto the pillow with an audible sigh.

Duke reached over and began to trace the shape of her ribs with his fingers, waiting to see if she would volunteer the source of her distress. Seconds passed and she took another deep breath, one he might have missed if his hand hadn't been resting over her lungs. Obligingly, he smiled. "Your mom?"

"No," Serenity said, sounding as if she would have preferred an interrogation from her mother to this. "Tristan."

The falter in his fingers was nearly imperceptible, even to him, but after a moment's contemplation Duke moved his hand back to his starting place, just under her left breast, and began the pattern again. Careful.

He thought. Yes, Tristan was single, but Duke couldn't remember him ever mentioning Serenity, even in jest, for months. "What did he want?"

"Oh…" Serenity lifted a hand, waved it vaguely in the air. Her voice was still thick with sleep. "He says he's in the area. Wants to talk to me about something."

Duke considered laughing, decided against it. "Don't break his heart when you turn him down."

"Be nice," Serenity chided, but there was a note of amusement in her voice. She'd thought the same thing. "Anyway it can't be that. I haven't even seen him since…Christmas, I think. And we barely talked."

True. Christmas was when Duke had kissed her for the first time, in the dark hallway between the downstairs bathroom and the pantry. It was during Yugi's annual party, and while they made out in secret the others played some kind of new game that required a lot of yelling and very little strategy. Joey had won and Serenity didn't leave Duke's side for the rest of the night.

But he wasn't going to discount the theory so easily. Despite all his straightforward enthusiasm, Tristan had a tendency to blindside. Duke wasn't about to take chances with someone like that.

He moved his hand to the right side of Serenity's ribs.

"That doesn't mean anything," he told her. "That guy's a huge sap. For all you know, he's been in love with you since high school."

"Don't joke like that," Serenity said. Then she turned a little to look at him, raising her knees under the sheets defensively, the sudden draft chilling both of them into alertness. "You are joking, right?"

Duke took mercy on her. "Mostly," he said, speaking honestly. "It does seem unlikely. I see him at the store all the time and he never mentions you."

Serenity relaxed. "All right," she said. "But then what could he want to talk to me about?"

At last, Duke finished the pattern. He put his hand flat against her stomach, turning his head to grin at her. "Who knows?" he said. "Go talk to him and find out."

"But he thinks I'm at the school—"

"I'll take you."

"I don't want you to drive me all the way back—"

"I don't mind," he said. "I'll drive you back and then get lost until you two are done. We can spend the rest of the day at the school."

"I guess…" she said, but her gratefulness was apparent. She didn't like disappointing people. "You're sure you don't mind?"

"Naw," he said lazily. "There's a game shop near your dorm I've been meaning to check out. This way I can take my time and you won't be bored."

She smiled. Between Duke and her brother, she'd been dragged to more than her share of game stores, tournaments, and expos. "Thank you."

He smiled back, leaned forward for a brief kiss, and then sat up. "All right," he said. "Get up. Tell him you're out to breakfast with a friend and you'll be back at…" He glanced at the clock, estimated, added some extra time in case she was up for sex in the shower. "10:30."

* * *

She was, but even so their timetable was short by a good ten minutes, and when he tried to compensate by suggesting breakfast on the run, she gave him a _look_ so potent he relented. It wasn't as if he was in a rush to get rid of her, after all. He just wanted to avoid suspicion.

So he made them breakfast, and then she insisted that they sit down to eat it. And _then_ they left.

Serenity didn't seem worried about their punctuality; she simply texted Tristan to let him know she'd be late, commenting that it wasn't uncommon for friends to linger at meals long after they'd finished eating. Frankly, if she was going to say that, Duke thought she could at least exaggerate how late she would be, but he couldn't think of a way to phrase his request in a way that wouldn't baffle her, so he settled for speeding, hoping to regain some of the time lost. He couldn't help it if she didn't share his obsessive urge to keep their relationship a secret. _She_ didn't have a widespread reputation as a playboy, a vested interest in _her_ public image, an uneasy almost-friendship with _his_ older siblings. It was up to him to avoid getting them caught, and he wasn't planning on getting caught.

Especially by Tristan. Even if he seemed long over his high-school infatuation with Serenity, that didn't mean losing her wouldn't hurt, especially after a rivalry that had been as drawn out as theirs. Duke couldn't pretend to know what went on in the guy's head, and he wasn't going to risk getting on Tristan's bad side. Tristan might have been the best friend Duke had, but Duke estimated that he only ranked fourth or fifth in Tristan's book, and he knew Tristan wouldn't hesitate to slug him one if he felt wronged for any reason.

Which he probably would.

Duke grimaced and glanced toward the front passenger seat. Serenity had continued texting Tristan throughout the long drive between his place and hers, no doubt in an effort to sound out the reason for his sudden request. Duke was dying of curiosity, but if Serenity found out anything, she didn't volunteer any information, and Duke didn't ask. If she was going to tell him, it would be after she talked to Tristan. It'd be pointless to ask sooner.

Still, he couldn't help puzzling over Tristan's choice of confidante. After all, Serenity was right when she said that she hadn't talked to Tristan in ages. There was no reason he'd go to her for help. The obvious answer was Joey, but the thing was, even if there _was_ a problem with Joey serious enough to require outside help, Duke was certain he would have heard about it, at least secondhand. He saw both Tristan and Joey regularly, and he hadn't sensed anything wrong. It couldn't have been an emergency, either, not if Tristan just "happened to be in the area", though Duke hardly believed in a coincidence like that.

So. Something personal. Maybe he _was_ in love with Serenity. After all, some of the most persistent flames burned in secret.

Duke took another look at the girl in question. She'd forgotten to bring a change of clothes (again), and wore the same orange sundress she'd worn yesterday, when the sun had made a tentative appearance and she'd tried to embrace the advent of spring. Today, there was no sun and she'd stolen his sweatshirt, the one he'd won at a school rally and had yet to actually wear. Chin in her palm, she stared at the curving stretch of road with a pensive expression. The phone sat open in her lap. It wasn't hard to make the connection.

"You okay?"

Serenity blinked, dropping her hand and throwing on a hasty smile, as if he would forget her expression if she simply changed it. "It's nothing," she said. "Just, um, just...nothing."

She was a horrible liar. Rapping his fingers on the steering wheel, Duke saw their exit and turned his blinker on. "Listen, if you don't want to talk to him—"

"No, it's fine—"

"—I'm just saying, he can talk to someone else. It doesn't have to be you."

It was unseasonably cold, even for April, so the roof of the Cadillac was up and the heater was on, but the cold was still seeping in through the seams. Shrouded in his sweatshirt, bare legs tightly twisted against the seat, Serenity seemed very small as she looked down at the phone in her hands.

"No," she said. "It needs to be me."

His suspicions confirmed, Duke returned his attention to the road. They were almost to the campus.

"I'll drop you off around a block from your dorm," he said. "That fine?"

"Okay," Serenity said, resigned. "I'll call you after."

The street Duke had planned using was thick with traffic. After driving around the block a few times, he ended up pulling into a parking lot a across the street from the school.

By now, Serenity had mastered her worry well enough to hide it. As he pulled to a stop, she huffed, a smile playing at the edge of her mouth as she tried and subsequently failed to look reproaching. "This is more than a block away, you know."

"_Apologies_, darling. Perhaps you'd like me to carry you to the door?"

"That sarcasm's going to get you into trouble one day."

"You think it hasn't already?" Duke tapped emphatically on the gas, the roar of the motor reminding them both why they were there. "You better get going. You're late, if you haven't already noticed."

The dashboard clock read 10:53. Serenity's smile faltered, but didn't fall, as she tugged on the edges of her sleeves. "All right, I know. See you after?"

Duke nodded and leaned forward to kiss her goodbye. It was only then that he knew. Even as he was pulling away, he sensed where to look: past Serenity, out her window and across the parking lot, where he saw the sleek lines of a silver Yamaha, that unmistakable red riding jacket, and the helmet above it, turned toward the convertible.

It was the first time Duke could remember wishing that his car wasn't quite so recognizable.

"Serenity…"

She'd already sensed the change in the air, and she leaned back, her hand tightening on his arm as she saw were he was looking. Her face fell.

"Shit," she said softly, the expletive painfully out of place coming from her.

There was no point in running away. Duke didn't have any choice but to _do _something. Suddenly he found himself grinning. If he was going to do something, he was going to have _fun_. And here he'd thought he was long over petty rivalries. "Hold on a second, hon, I'll take care of this—"

"No—!"

Her blush surprised him, creeping across the corners of her face to spread over her cheekbones as she clutched the phone in her hand. "Please, Duke…"

He softened, but only just. "Well, come on then." He swung the door shut and swiveled on the balls of his feet. Couples were supposed to do things as a unit anyhow. It wasn't as if he could have pretended that she wasn't there in the car with him.

Tristan still hadn't moved, and Duke's pulse began to pound in anticipation as he started across the parking lot. _Fight or flight, Tristan. You've only got two choices_. _Either way, I've got your number._

Behind him, he heard the door open and heard Serenity say his name, the ridiculous clap of her flip-flops as she ran to catch up. Tristan didn't move until they was almost upon him, at which point he removed his helmet and slid off the bike with an artless grace, his eyes fixed firmly on the horizon behind them as he took a few steps forward and stopped.

"I thought I recognized that car," he said, his voice neutral.

Duke shrugged, played along. "Hard to miss it." He studied Tristan's expression carefully as he spoke, but Tristan turned his face toward Serenity without once looking in Duke's direction.

That wasn't right. When it came to girls, Tristan had always been proper, but he'd never been _professional_.

"I get it," he told Serenity. "You don't have to explain anything."

Serenity nodded miserably, hugging herself as she shifted her wait from one foot to the other. Whether it was cold or nerves, Duke couldn't tell. "Listen," she said, faltering. "We can talk about it—"

"Forget it. It's fine."

The hell it was. Duke was prepared for anger, or for grief. Not for resignation. Resignation gave him nothing to work with. "Hey, Tris," he said. "We haven't told Joey. You don't mind keeping it quiet for a few weeks?"

Too callous. Serenity turned to him, outraged. "Duke—!"

"It's fine," Tristan said. He barely glanced in Duke's direction. "Don't worry about it. Serenity, sorry you had to deal with this—"

"No—Tristan—"

He said it's _fine_," Duke said firmly, putting a hand on her arm. "He'll get over you." He lifted his eyes to meet Tristan's.

_That _got his attention. Finally, _finally_, Tristan was turning toward him, eyes wide in surprised outrage, his face flushing—

Serenity pulled away. "Could you shut up?" she said. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Seren—"

"Just stay here!"

Duke was too stunned to protest when she pushed past him and took hold of Tristan's arm, lugging him almost forcefully across the lot and out of earshot.

Everything was wrong. As far as teasing was concerned, Duke hadn't even come close to crossing the line. Serenity had no right to be _indignant_. She was supposed to be on his side, not Tristan's; you could only do so much to preserve a person's feelings.

Oddly enough, he reflected, Serenity didn't seem all that concerned about Tristan's feelings, nor did she seem to shy away from touching him, judging by the way she was pushing him through the parking lot, waving her hands and getting in his face as she spoke emphatically about…_something_.

Duke couldn't tell if the overfamiliarity was a good thing or not. He'd only seen her exhibit this kind of behavior around Joey. God knew what it meant if she used it with Tristan, or what she was lecturing him about, and it was no doubt a lecture. Their body language alone could tell him that; but that didn't mean he could make sense of it. Serenity wasn't exactly prone to anger—he'd seen her get pissed at her brother once or twice, so he knew she was capable of the emotion, but the fact that she was angry at all (about what?) seemed nonsensical to him.

From several yards away he watched Serenity and Tristan carry on their heated discussion, both of them frequently gesturing toward Duke or leaning together to whisper, although they needn't have bothered. Between the wind and the traffic from the road, he couldn't hear a thing.

But sitting around just waiting for something to happen wasn't going to do it for him, either, and he gave them only a minute of privacy before he started his slow approach. He didn't try to hide, but they didn't notice him and he didn't do anything to ensure that they did.

The wind distorted their words so that he could only catch random syllables, the occasional "I" or "my" or "you" or "him", and he was only a few feet away when Serenity threw her fists down, looking like she wanted to hit something, and said, loudly enough for Duke to hear: "Well, don't you even want to _try_?"

Their faces were flushed with the cold, and Tristan raised his hand to his mouth, as if to stop his imminent reply, and his eyes lifted, and they met Duke's.

There had been a time, back in high school, when they'd been close enough to know what the other was thinking without having to say a word. Granted, they'd been in high school; they both had dirty, cynical minds, and it wasn't ever hard to guess what Tristan was thinking, but it was _something_. It was evidence that there had been a connection there, once.

But things had changed since then, and Tristan's expression was impossible to read.

Another blast of wind barreled past, and Tristan jerked into motion, pushing past Duke and striding toward his bike. His legs were long, and he walked quickly, shoulders hunched against the wind and against Serenity's voice as she yelled his name in an incoherent effort to get him to turn back.

Duke pushed his hair out of his face and swallowed his swarming uncertainty. He was just off his game, he told himself. Off his game, and Tristan was a jackass anyway.

"Go after him."

Serenity's face was pale, with anger or fear or both, and Duke looked from her back to Tristan, who had by now reached his motorcycle and was climbing aboard, jamming the helmet over his head with a vehemency that was tangible even from twenty yards away.

"Why?" he said flatly. Sure, tough luck for Tristan, but it wasn't Duke's job to comfort him. "If he's going to get over you, you need to give him space—"

"He's not in love with me!" Serenity was shaking—was she going to cry?—and she swallowed, glaring at Duke with a stubborn urgency that crawled inside him and twisted as she repeated, meaningfully, "Not with _me_."

The truth was obvious, but it was so ridiculous Duke ignored it, stared at Serenity while it gnawed down the walls of logic and stormed into place with a shocking finality that simultaneously terrified and infuriated him. He should have seen it coming and yet somehow he'd missed it completely.

"Fuck," he said. "You've got to be fucking kidding me—"

"He wanted my advice," Serenity said miserably. "He knew we were friends, but he didn't know—" Even as she spoke, the motorcycle roared to life and started to pull out of the parking lot. "Please, Duke—"

"Serenity, I'm not—"

"Didn't you tell me you used to like him?"

He had. What had that conversation even been about? Battle City? Old flames? Whatever it was, she'd told him about the crush she'd had on her older brother's brazen best friend, and Duke, ignoring all his instincts, had admitted that yes, there'd been a point where he'd liked Tristan too, but months of casual flirting had yielded him nothing but the strict hand of friendship, and Duke had had no choice but to give up and assume that Tristan was just irrevocably, _unforgivably_ straight.

But that didn't explain anything. Nothing had come of it, and Serenity—his _girlfriend_—had—

"What were you doing?" he demanded, turning on her. "Were you telling him to go for it?"

"No, I—"

"I'm dating _you_, remember? Or maybe you don't want—"

"That's not what this is!" She looked like she might burst into tears at any moment, and she clenched her fists as she glared up at him. "You have to talk to him—"

"_No_, I _don't_. That was years ago, and I chose you—"

"Why do you have to choose?" Now she _did _burst into tears, and she rubbed her hands furiously against her eyes, turning away to hide her face, into the wind, and suddenly he could barely hear anything she said.

"Why do you always have to take a side?" she said. "Why can't you just—If you love two people why aren't you allowed to be with _both_ of them?"

"What? No one said anything about—"

Duke stopped himself. Whatever she was talking about, it had nothing to do with him. This was about a girl who had seen her family torn in half, who'd had parents and siblings argue over her as if she was a piece of property, who couldn't stand conflict, who wouldn't rest until _everyone_ was happy, even if it was at her own expense. Even if she was wrong, telling her would have been a mistake.

"Look," he said, more gently, reaching for her, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "Things don't always work out the way you want—"

She didn't give him a chance to comfort her; she stepped back, eyes swollen and blazing. "Go after him! Bring him back or I won't forgive you!"

Duke's first impulse was to taunt her; an ultimatum was ridiculous, especially coming from the girl he liked to call "a practical saint", but he held his words back, and didn't roll his eyes. He could tolerate a moment of nonsensical passion; it wasn't like he didn't have plenty of practice dealing with demands far more insane.

"Fine, all right, calm down, I'll go. Let's go back to the car—"

"Go without me!" She was already walking away from him, her dress flapping in the wind. She wasn't going to give him a chance to say no.

She looked ridiculously childish with her bare legs and his oversized sweatshirt, half jogging out of the parking lot toward her dorm, and Duke knew the thought was ungracious, but he tolerated the it. Hell, he welcomed it. He deserved to be ungracious. What did she want him to do anyway? Chase Tristan down for a romantic reconciliation? Fat chance. Duke knew the difference between plausibility and wish fulfillment.

Still, he had to at least _pretend_ to make an effort. Serenity would calm down in time, but she'd hold it against him if he gave anything less than his best. Well, he wouldn't, but he could at least be convincing when he told her he tried.

So he dug his keys back out of his pocket and returned to the Cadillac. If he rushed, he probably could still catch Tristan, but he didn't plan to rush. He planned to take a leisurely drive back into Domino, check Tristan's house, (the one place he was certain _not_ to be) and come back. Maybe he'd even stop by that one game store and kill an hour or two before finding Serenity. That should give her time to cool off.

It was cheap, but frankly, Duke had no desire to engage in whatever this was. He didn't see the point of dredging up old feelings just to take a risk that had no chance of working out. What Serenity was suggesting—whatever it was—would only blow up in their faces, and Duke wasn't about to watch all his careful efforts up to this point go to waste. Serenity would have to learn that sometimes, compromise is impossible.

The highway was still abandoned, typical for a Sunday morning, but still Duke drove a safe five miles below the speed limit. He doubted he could catch up to Tristan at this point, if he had even come this way, but there was no harm in being careful.

He stopped first at the apartment Tristan and Joey shared, but neither of their vehicles were in the lot. He even took the time to stop by the Taylor's, but he saw no motorcycle and didn't go up to the door, since he had no plausible excuse for asking them where their son was without making it sound like he'd gone missing.

Might as well fill up the tank while he was here; he still had to go to Serenity's school and back before the end of the day. He pulled into a nearby gas station and called Joey while he pumped gas, just so he could say he did. No answer; no surprise. Probably working. Duke didn't leave a voicemail.

Téa was probably Tristan's second choice of a confidante, but she was across the country for a dance fellowship, so there was no point calling her.

He almost didn't call Yugi. Yugi was sentimental; too kind and too impossible to lie to. But Duke still called, just for the sense of completion it would give him. His perfectionism had really _not_ been doing him any favors lately.

Yugi picked up on the fifth ring.

"_Hello_?"

"Hey," Duke said, trying to sound enthusiastic as he held the phone with one hand and the gas nozzle with the other. "Sorry to bother you, but have you seen Tristan today?"

"_No…why? Is something wrong?"_

"Oh no, nothing like that. I just stopped by his house to drop something off and he isn't home. Isn't picking up his phone, either. I wouldn't be surprised if he left it at home again. Don't worry about it."

"_I think he went to see Serenity…"_ Yugi said uncertainly. _"At her school."_

Duke paused. If Yugi knew that, what else did he know? "All right," he said. "I guess I'll try him again tomorrow. Talk to ya later, Yugi."

"_Duke—"_

Duke didn't reply, but he didn't hang up, either. The nozzle popped, and he turned to replace it. Still Yugi hesitated. It didn't matter. Duke knew his question. When it came to other people, Yugi wasn't as perceptive as, say, Téa, but he was far from obtuse. People trusted him and he picked up on more than they realized.

"Everything's fine," he said smoothly. "I'm serious, Yugi. Don't worry about it."

Yugi didn't sound convinced, but he didn't press the point. "_If you say so, Duke_," he said. "_Just…be careful, all right_?"

Duke almost laughed. "Always."

When Yugi hung up, Duke grabbed his receipt and checked the time on his phone. Twelve-thirty. He'd killed enough time; might as well head back to the school.

He'd traveled the stretch of highway between inner Domino and Serenity's college dozens of times. There were a few barely-used ocean viewpoints, but most of the view was blocked by trees and suburbs and barren of any interesting scenery whatsoever. That, and the fact that the roads were still clear, was the only reason he'd seen Tristan.

There was a river which cut through the city on the way to the ocean, and the bridge that crossed it was plain: built low to the ground with nothing but guardrails on either side. In the summer, it was common for people to park on the shoulder and take a small, half-hidden trail to the waterfront under the bridge. Its users ranged from fishermen and rowdy teenagers to hardcore drug addicts and anyone looking for a place to have sex, depending on the time of day.

Duke had been looking at the road as he approached the bridge, but it was impossible to miss that damned red jacket. The bastard had wheeled his bike halfway down the slope so that it was impossible to see from the road, and _of course_ Duke had to drive by at the same moment Tristan had decided it was safe to emerge from the brush.

Damn it. God _fucking_ damm it.

Tristan saw him coming, of course. He would have been blind to miss the mint-green convertible. Almost immediately he was on the bike. He had the advantage; he'd parked on the left-hand side of the bridge and Duke was about to pass him. If he didn't stop now, Duke would have to drive all the way across before he could turn around.

Not that Duke had any intention of letting that happen. At once Duke pulled the emergency brake and swung the steering wheel to the left. With a screech the back end of the car swung out, the entire Cadillac swerving into the opposite lane as it turned in a nearly 180-degree arc. The force of the turn slammed Duke against the seatbelt as he released the brake and tapped the gas, trying frantically to keep the car from skidding into the guardrail. There was a flash of color as he narrowly missed hitting Tristan (or had that been the bike?). He slid to a stop at the trailhead, the front bumper of the car hanging precariously out over the slope.

Duke didn't have time to take stock of himself or the car. Immediately he was out of the vehicle, stumbling around the end to cut off Tristan before he tried to get by the car on foot.

He shouldn't have bothered; Tristan wasn't going anywhere. He was a little further down the slope, half off the motorcycle, bent low over the handlebars. He must have backed up so quickly he'd lost control of the bike and rolled partway down the hill.

"Are you a _fucking idiot_?" Tristan's helmet was nowhere to be seen, and the force of his bare-faced anger was enough to stop Duke in his tracks. "You almost killed me!"

"Shut up," Duke said, stalling for time as he put his hands flat against the body of the car and taking a breath. All that adrenaline was catching up with him; he could feel his legs shaking as he looked down the steep trail and realized _just_ how close he'd come to driving himself into the river.

But he needed to focus, and it was far too easy to meet Tristan's glare with one of his own, and Tristan's anger lost its momentum as his expression shifted to one of bafflement. "Wait, are you _mad_ at me_?_"

For once, Duke didn't have an immediate answer. All this adrenaline—no, anger, Tristan had been right, damn him—was making it hard to think. He had to calm down, get back in control. To buy himself some time, he studied the car, suddenly aware of the acrid scent of burning rubber, the thick overhang of dust in the air dissipating in the freezing wind. He was definitely going to have to do something about the tires. Probably hadn't been easy on the brakes, either.

He'd taken too long to answer. Tristan had gotten off the bike, holding it up with one hand as he peered toward the river. The ground was too uneven for the kickstand, and, muttering vague obscenities, he settled for propping the bike gingerly against a winter-dry shrub as he made his way, half-sliding, down the trail.

Found his helmet, apparently. Didn't matter. It gave Duke time to think, and when Tristan had retrieved his headgear and came tramping back up the trail, rubbing the dust off with the edge of his shirt, Duke knew what he wanted to say.

"I want to talk to you."

Tristan ignored him, jamming the helmet back on, obscuring his features and muffling his voice. "Too bad," he said. "I'm not talking to you."

He picked up the bike and started to guide it around the back of Duke's car.

"All that and you're just going to leave?" Duke said, forcing a laugh. He wasn't about to let Tristan go, not after almost killing himself. God, _why_ did he have to pull over? He crossed his arms and leaned back against the car. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

An exaggeration, but it worked. With one leg halfway over the bike, Tristan stopped, turned back to look at him. Force wouldn't keep him, but guilt would.

Duke couldn't see Tristan's expression, only his own reflected back at him. He quirked an eyebrow.

A moment of silence. Then Tristan reached up to pull the helmet off, sat back in his seat to hold it on his lap. He didn't look at Duke, he stared at the helmet, at his hands, clenched tight around it. In the motorcycle's side mirror, Duke caught a glimpse of Tristan's face, flushed in anger and embarrassment and the cold. Despite that, his voice was bleak.

"I guess Serenity told you."

That was nothing short of obvious. "Why else would I be here?" Duke said. "Not exactly how I wanted to spend the day."

Tristan almost turned, then; Duke saw his leg spasm against the seat. But in the end, only his voice responded. Dull, clipped. Sarcastic.

"Sorry for the inconvenience."

His adrenaline had worn off and now the cold was kicking in. Duke tucked his hands under his arms. If Tristan wanted to play that way…

"I hope you're also apologizing for all those years I thought you were straight," he said. "Because I'm going to pissed about _that_ for a while."

Tristan flinched, but didn't look up. If Duke didn't rein himself in, things were going to get bloody very, very soon.

Somehow, Duke couldn't bring himself to care. Even if he found this whole scenario ridiculously ironic (and he did), his sense of embittered rage was stronger. He didn't look for its source—that didn't matter—he just used it, channeling it out through his words, through well-placed barbs that always, _always_, found their target.

"How long have you known?" he asked. "I'm just asking, because, you know, I'd like to know exactly how much of my time I've wasted waiting for you to figure out that you're _queer_—"

"Shut up!" Tristan didn't move as he spoke, but Duke could see his whole body tensing up. He'd burst any second now. It was too easy, really. Tristan internalized everything and just didn't _get_ that there were healthy, productive ways of releasing stress.

He didn't explode as much as he used to, but that was just because there wasn't as much to stress over. No one but Duke seemed to notice that the flaws were still there, just waiting for a crisis to exploit them.

"Just—look," Tristan started, haltingly. "It's not like I was ever going to tell you. And it doesn't really matter now, anyway. Since Serenity—"

"Serenity has nothing to do with this."

"She has _everything_ to do with this!" Tristan said, twisting in his seat to face Duke. "You—do you even love her?"

Duke stared coolly back. Now _that_ was none of Tristan's business. "Maybe I do," he said. "Maybe I don't."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Duke said, pivoting on one foot to push himself away from the car. "That she's not part of this equation. How I feel about her is irrelevant, isn't it?" He stared levelly at Tristan. "Since we're discussing how I feel about you."

Tristan's breath misted in the bitterly cold air. "I don't even want to know," he said heavily. "You're with her, and—"

"And maybe I'd like to be with someone else."

"She's not—she's not some fucking placeholder! You can't just—"

"Why not?" Duke said. "You should be happy, right? She's out of the way, now you've got your shot with me."

"That's not—!"

Tristan stopped mid-sentence, his embarrassment giving way to suspicion with alarming speed. "No. No way. Are you _seriously_ fucking around with me at a time like this?"

Duke smirked.

"So you caught on after all," he said, tapping his knuckles against the hood of the car. He should have felt some sort of satisfaction, but he didn't. He was just annoyed. "For someone who's supposedly in love with me, you don't have a very high opinion of my integrity."

"I'm not—"

For a moment—just a moment—Duke's breath caught, and then Tristan broke his gaze. But it was just that: a moment. The river was cold and barren, and the whole world a wasteland. There were no distractions, no places to stop and think. And nowhere to hide the things they couldn't say.

Tristan took a long, deep breath. "Look," he said. "I get it. You're angry. But it's not like I meant for this to happen—I can't help the timing! I've got my own shit to deal with and I can't put my feelings on a fucking schedule just for your _convenience_."

Slowly, Duke's fist opened, his palm laid flat against the side of the car. "You're making it sound like I'm some brat who didn't get his way—"

"Yeah, well that's what you are." Tristan had twisted his body to see Duke more clearly, grabbing the handlebars with one hand to keep his balance. The other still kept hold of the helmet, and only the pale white of his knuckles gave Duke any indication of just how angry Tristan was. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to have some fucking empathy once in a while."

"Oh, so you want me to feel sorry for you, is that it?"

"I think I damn well deserve it. I'm the one who had to go out and get embarrassed in front of—in front of _you_, and then you have the balls to pretend like _you're_ the victim just so you can play your stupid fucking little mind games with me!"

A lone semi truck roared by, and the breeze that followed interrupted their conversation, making the both of them shiver simultaneously. Duke shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and brought them back empty. He'd stopped carrying around dice years ago, but he couldn't help wishing he had some now. He couldn't figure out what to do with his hands.

"So now I'm a heartless monster," he said.

Tristan, to his credit, didn't try to pretend he meant anything else. He was too far gone to control his emotions now; the best he could do was channel them into insults and action, but insults had never gotten him anywhere with Duke and there wasn't anything he could do to stop him. Duke had banked on Tristan giving up, and now it seemed he'd reached the end of his reserves, his anger collapsing back into its original shapes of embarrassment and heartbreak and jealousy.

"I hope Serenity hasn't seen this side of you," Tristan said. He'd probably meant it to sound cutting, but his current state of emotional upheaval only made him sound on the verge of tears. "She'll be crushed when she realizes what kind of person you really are."

"She knows me," Duke said, more annoyed by the accusation than he cared to admit. "Better than you, at least."

"I doubt it," Tristan said, with a sidelong glance. "I've seen the person you pretend to be with other people. You're a pretty convincing liar."

_I'm not a liar._

Duke didn't say that. Denying immature accusations would only put him on the defensive. He can't afford to be on the defensive.

"Oh, I_ get_ it," he said slowly, trailing a hand along the body of the car as he took one step closer, and then another. "You think you've got me _all_ figured out."

Out of the corner of his eye, Tristan was dubiously watching Duke's progress. "No," he said, suddenly honest. "But at least you don't pretend to be perfect with me."

"I don't _pretend_ to be perfect."

"No, you're just always like that." Tristan sounded tired. "Is that what Serenity thinks?"

"Of course not."

"Can she tell when you're lying?"

Tristan's posture, his tone, hadn't changed, but Duke knew that he thought this was his ace. Tough luck; it wasn't enough. Duke ignored the accusation and cut to the heart of the matter. If Tristan thought he was somehow special, that Duke trusted him with the truth, Duke wasn't going to disappoint.

"She doesn't need to," he said flatly, his expression cool as he watched Tristan's hesitation, the slow, belated flinch. He continued, mercilessly, because this was the only way he knew how to end an argument. Either you won or you lost, and Duke never played to lose.

"She doesn't need to, because I don't lie to her. Never did, never will, but since you seem stuck on this idea that I'm a liar, I'll tell you what you want to hear, just to prove you right. Maybe I _am_ a liar. Maybe I do lie, but not to her." His voice, calculated, dropped to a whisper. "Maybe I only lie to you."

Tristan doesn't move. He stared up at Duke, and Duke saw an expression in his eyes he hadn't expected. Anger, yes, pain, yes. But not satisfaction. Not triumph.

"You're so full of shit," Tristan said, with so much confidence Duke took a half step back, but Tristan only leaned forward to get a better look at him. "You _do _lie to her, don't you?"

"Fuck you."

Duke said it before he could check his words, but he recovered quickly, smothering his emotions and wiping any expression from his face. One mistake wasn't enough to turn the tables. He just had to get Tristan back on the defensive.

Tristan was grinning. Granted, his grin was equal parts pain and pleasure, but he hadn't taken the bait, and Duke realized that for once he'd underestimated his opponent. Tristan's anger had always been that wall between his good intentions and his capability for malice, but Duke hadn't expected him to fight back intelligently. He'd forgotten the whole reason he'd been drawn to Tristan in the first place. The bastard might have been stubborn, painfully straightforward and impatient, but he had a habit of dropping bombshells out of nowhere, of noticing the things that weren't supposed to be noticed, and that, in Duke's eyes, had made him worthy of notice. Now it just made him dangerous.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he replied, finally, and it was weak but he couldn't think of anything better to say without resorting to petty insults—not that he wasn't above that, but they wouldn't help him. Not here.

"You saying I'm wrong?" Tristan said. "Because I _can_ tell when you're lying."

"Yeah? You believed me pretty easily when I was messing with you just now."

"You got me pissed," Tristan said, his voice level. "And I thought I could trust you."

"Cute," Duke said. "But I still don't believe—"

"You don't have to." Tristan shrugged, carefully. He might have gained the upper hand, but he was treading on dangerous ground, and they both knew it. "But I know you, and you were lying when you said Serenity has nothing to do with this, and you were lying just now, when you said you only lie to me." He didn't take his eyes away from Duke's face. "There's no way I'm that special."

The only thing Duke could think was that he'd never seen Tristan so controlled. In any other situation it'd be admirable. Today he just wanted him to shut up. "That's not—"

"You know I'm right, Devlin. You think I don't know you, and hell, maybe I don't, but if you dare try and tell me that you believe any of that bullshit you're a bigger loser than I thought."

Duke was moving forward before he could stop himself, some distant, detached part of his mind wondering when this conversation had stopped being about love.

"Who said—" he said, haltingly, trying and failing to control his temper. "Who said I believe it? Who said anyone is supposed to believe _anything_? So maybe I just tell people what they want to hear. That's not lying, that's common sense, and maybe I'm wrong, but I can't just—"

With great effort, he stopped talking, forced himself to maintain eye contact with Tristan while he tried to collect his thoughts. That was bad. This was bad. He _never_ lost control. "Look," he said, more slowly. "We all can't be as honest as you. But I know what I'm doing."

For a long time, Tristan didn't say anything. He stared down at his lap, lines appearing around his mouth and between his eyes as he frowned, the way he did when he didn't like something but was too polite to speak out, and Duke hated himself for even recognizing that expression, because he shouldn't have known Tristan that well to begin with. No wonder this whole conversation was a wreck. They were too close to try hurting each other without it backfiring on one or both of them.

"So why did you pull over?"

"What?"

"Why did you pull over?" Tristan repeated patiently. He watched Duke with a tired expression—not hope, they were both past _that_—but obligation. They both knew where they would be at the end of the day. It was the only question left to ask, and at this point the answer didn't matter. "Did you just want to mess with me?"

Maybe it was the truth, but Duke wasn't comfortable with it. There was more to it than that; there was Serenity's mission of reconciliation (if that's what it was), there was boredom and curiosity and base anger, but there was also the real reason, the reason Tristan wouldn't ever get to hear. The compulsion, the sheer _need_ to know if it was true, if Duke had given up too early and they'd only missed each other by a few unsaid words.

In the end, he settles on the easiest answer. He wouldn't give Tristan the satisfaction of knowing the whole truth, not now, but he would still get the truth, diced and packed and parceled into a neat reason that explained enough without explaining anything at all.

"Serenity thought I should talk to you."

Tristan is silent as he absorbs the information. And then, to Duke's surprise, the corner of Tristan's mouth curled up by just a fraction.

"Probably wasn't her best advice."

Duke raised an eyebrow, but he couldn't help relaxing a little, smiling back. "So I'm an asshole," he said. "She'll figure it out."

Tristan shook his head and grinned, but he sobered quickly, paused, and after what seemed to be a long inward struggle, asked the question he'd really meant to ask: "So what you said, about her—is she—?"

He cut himself off, unable to even finish his question. It didn't matter. Duke understood.

"You were right," he said. "She's not a placeholder."

Tristan waited, but Duke didn't elaborate. There was nothing else to say.

Duke didn't look at Tristan, because he knew what he'd see: the pained expression of resignation, the slow distancing of his expression as Tristan once again turned into a stranger. He only saw the slight movement as Tristan nodded, shrugged and reached for his helmet. Still Duke said nothing as Tristan pushed the helmet on, leaned forward over the handlebars, gently wheeled the bike around the edge of the Mustang and back onto the road. He might have looked back as he took off down the road, the motor roaring with sudden power, but Duke didn't watch him leave. He stared at the river, still roaring from their overlong winter, and counted the seconds under his breath.

Once the sound of the motor had died in the distance, Duke sighed, slumping against the car. No one might have won their little exchange, but Duke still felt like he was the one who had lost more. He was the one who had unintentionally given himself away, who had found himself defenseless in the face of the truth. Duke was made of layers, of masks built on masks, and he knew it, but as far as he was concerned, there was nothing to find underneath. But Tristan—Tristan was the plummeting depths of a volcano, and every time Duke tried to break through his barriers, to get under his skin, he only ended up destroying the fragile balance of whatever relationship they had.

He kept counting, and slowly he became aware of other sounds; the distant murmur of the river, the soft cry of a lone invisible bird, the howl of the wind as it passed under the bridge. He counted more slowly now, focusing on forming the sounds instead of their meaning. Just habit, he told himself.

When he reached two hundred, he stopped. Automatically he reached into his pocket for his keys but his pockets were empty. It took him a few seconds to find them sitting on the front seat.

He should go talk to Serenity, but the way the car was parked, he'd have to pull another illegal u-turn to get himself faced in the direction of the school. That alone was enough of an excuse for him to just go home, but the highway was still deserted and he couldn't bring himself to do it, even after everything, so he put the car into gear and looked both ways before pulling out into the road.

* * *

Serenity didn't answer her phone, but Duke went to her dorm room anyway, because it was his only other option, and after forcing himself to drive all the way out there he wasn't ready to go home. He didn't expect to find her there, and he didn't, but he found her roommate, and she took one look at him and said, "Try the library."

He followed her advice, getting directions from a passing student. He'd spent some time walking around the campus before, but it was still easy to get lost if you weren't careful. The buildings were tall and close together, the paths dipping down behind hedges and amphitheaters and blocking his view. There were frequent maps posted all over campus, but they were just as hard to find as the buildings they represented.

The library was five-stories tall; intuitively he went to the fifth floor: Archives and Special Collections. If she was hiding, she'd go to the most isolated spot possible.

He found her in the stacks, sitting on the floor. She was holding a book open against her knees, but he felt it was more for show than anything else; her hands were spread, fingers splayed against the pages. She didn't look at him, but she knew he was there, she sighed as he approached, her feet drawing closer together. She hadn't been crying, the time has passed for that, but she was still pale under the shadow of the bookshelves and, looking at her, Duke found himself inexplicably exhausted.

She spoke softly, without waiting for him to say anything first.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't being fair. I was just so—" She broke off, glanced up at him, as if looking for approval, but for what he couldn't tell. "I thought maybe it was what you wanted."

It took Duke a minute to figure out what she was talking about, he felt so removed from the situation. All the sudden he just wanted to sleep. "It's fine," he said. "You don't have to apologize."

She nodded, slowly, and then closed the book on her lap, her fingers brushing delicately over the cover. An old collection of Greek tragedies. The choice was unlike her; when she wasn't reading a medical textbook, she usually sprang for easy reading—bittersweet coming-of-age novels about mother-daughter relationships or living with cancer or finding true love.

"I wish you'd have been able to talk to him," she said, lightly tracing the raised texture of the letters.

It was a strange thing for her to say, Duke thought. "I _did_ talk to him," he said, carefully, and his heart sank as he saw her fingers still, her wide-eyed astonishment as she looked up at him, and he realized that she'd never even expected him to try, had been waiting here for him to come here and lie to her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, not bothering to hide any of his sudden irritation. "I just did what you told me."

She could hardly deny it, and he watched her look away, momentarily ashamed. "I thought—," she said. "I thought if you did talk to him, you wouldn't have come back."

Duke watched her blush and look down at her fingers twisting together in her lap. Tristan was wrong, he thought. She _did_ know him better. They could both pretend all they wanted, but what they had—who they were—that wouldn't change. He looked down at her, and he held out his hand.

"I'm right here," he said, and her expression was so grateful, so _relieved_, it made him sick. She took his hand and he pulled her up, pulled her against him so he didn't have to see her face, and so she didn't have to see his, because after everything else, he wasn't sure he could handle it.

Her hands closed in the fabric of his jacket, and her voice, muffled, sounded against his shoulder.

"What did he say?"

Duke took the time to trail his fingers lazily down her back. He could barely feel the ridges of her ribs through her dress, but they're still there, still perfectly ordered. "He'll live," he said, forcing a smile. He would have laughed if he thought either of them could have taken it. "He's tough. He knew I had to choose."

Serenity pulled back a little, and she was smiling too, but it was impossible for Duke to miss the slight narrowing of her eyes, the briefest hesitation when he leaned down to kiss her. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to lose whatever remnants of hope he might have still had. The smallest crack, given enough time, will destroy towers, and he'd just seen Serenity fracture.

"Let's go," he murmured, and incoherently she mumbled back, her fingers trembling as they curled behind his ears, her toes rising to press their bodies together until they became a single, desperate, monument of fear. Still Duke threw himself entirely into her embrace, knowing that there were months, maybe even years, before he'd have to watch himself destroy her. Until then, all he could do was wait for the inevitable, because there was no doubt in his mind that it would happen. He knew what failure looked like.

**End**

* * *

_A/N: I've gotten very attached to Serenity lately; her flaws make for a pretty interesting character dynamic when you pair her up with the right person. This whole story came about as part of an effort to examine why I prefer her with Duke over Tristan, and to look at the crushshipping pairing with a little more realistic lens than I used in _Mechanisms_, which is a bit too gooey for my taste._

_There are a few random references to The Wasteland beyond the epigraph. They more mostly for my own enjoyment; it gave me an excuse to read it again. I'd say it's really relevant to these characters, but I've gotten to a point where I can see chase/crush/cheershipping in almost everything, so I won't._

_Of course, feedback is welcome in all forms. Constructive criticism is great, regular criticism less so, but hey, I'll take anything._


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